


Difference

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Canonical Minor Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Melancholy, Pre-Series, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Jackie takes care of herself and the men in her life, one who has a late night on the job, and the other who's having a hard time at college. Pre-series.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	Difference

Jackie let Gil sleep into the afternoon. Pulled the drapes tight. Closed the door behind her to keep out the cat. Retreated to the kitchen. Tiptoed so quietly the ants wouldn’t have sensed her presence.

Didn't shower, didn't play music, didn’t run the coffee pot, didn't use the stove or microwave. Poured a small bowl of cereal and read her feeds, bookmarking new recipes and art inspiration that caught her eye. Worked on a painting of the riverside park she remembered as a special trip from her youth. Snuggled with Molly to keep her from meowing, every once in a while getting a bat instead of a purr.

Snuggles she told herself were to maintain the silence, but also helped temper the worry she had for her husband in the next room. Nights she needed to help him to bed were second in stress only to nights he didn’t come home. Those were _by far_ the worst. Extra care was manageable.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, and she picked it up before it could cause a disturbance. "Hi, baby,” she said quietly, walking to the entrance — as far away as she could get from the bedroom.

Sniff.

"What is it?" She rubbed the side of her phone with her thumb as if it were the top of his head.

"Can I talk to Gil?" he creaked out, voice heavy with tears.

"He's sleeping."

Sobs stabbed through the line.

“Baby, what is it?”

“I want to come _h-home_ ,” he cried, his heartbreak shaking through the line.

Her own heart clenched at hearing his pain. “Are you safe?”

“They l-left me in the _woods_ ,” his words struggled out.

“Where are you?”

“M-my apartment.”

“Are you safe?” she repeated, needing to know the urgency of the situation. If he was in danger, she’d have Gil up in a heartbeat.

Silence. “Yes.”

She sat on the floor against the door. “Can you make yourself some ginger tea?”

She heard his shuffling and clinking of the kettle before she got any response.

“The park’s about halfway done,” she updated on her painting progress that they’d been sharing during their talks.

His tears stopped interrupting his speech. “Can we go soon?”

“You’ve already been,” she reminded, her vivid memory of swinging by the river with her abuela mixing with pushing him on the swing when he wouldn’t talk.

“But I don’t remember.”

“Sure.”

She heard liquid pouring into a mug and sliding to what she imagined was him curling up with the mug on the floor. Two states apart, but they were still huddled up together. He was near quiet, only sniffs coming across.

“Los pollitos dicen pío, pío, pío,” she sang, her warm voice reaching out to him, “cuando tienen hambre, cuando tienen frío.”

A chuckle. “I’m not — “

But he wouldn’t deter her from sharing the children’s song to comfort him like she had when she held and rocked him when he was younger. “La gallina busca el maíz y el trigo les da la comida y les presta abrigo.”

“Jackie — “

“Bajos sus alitas acurrucaditos hasta el otro día duermen los pollitos.” He was arguably too old for the song then and definitely too old for the song now, but she didn’t care what anyone thought. She’d do what _worked_.

She could almost see his smile through the phone.

Her fingers played against her knee, wishing she could give him a hug. “You’ll always be our kid.”

“Thank you.”

“I can have Gil call you when he gets up? Talk about coming to visit you?” she offered.

His voice shifted to concern, “Is he okay? It’s like three.”

“Had a really rough night. I know he’d love to hear your voice.”

“Can you not tell him about this…meltdown?” he requested, unsure. “Doesn’t seem…normal.”

“You should tell him. It’s _college_ — you’re trying new experiences — he won’t think any less.” Her husband would always think the world of him. They both would.

“Yeah.”

“Sip your tea. Go sit in the sun and read. Do _something_ to relax a little bit,” she provided suggestions similar to what she was trying herself.

“I miss you.”

Though leaving New York had helped him in some ways, being further away from them had led to a few calls like this one. They wanted to be there to support him, but also found it their responsibility to help him grow. “We miss you too, kid. We’ll talk about a visit when Gil gets up.”

“Bye.”

* * *

Gil still hadn’t moved by four. Jackie braved using the microwave to heat up a rice heat pack and pulled the handle before it could beep in completion. She padded back to the bedroom and found Gil laying on his stomach, his head buried in the pillow, his bare back peeking out of the sheets. “Hi, honey,” he mumbled, unmoving.

She crossed to him and laid the heat pack across his left side where deep purpled bruises had formed. She kissed where his neck met his back and spoke near his ear, “Rub your shoulders?”

“Sure.”

She started light, running her fingertips over the wide expanse of his shoulders, his upper back, careful to avoid any of the tender spots. She dug deeper, feeling for the knots he carried in his shoulders, his lower back, rubbing until he relaxed under her touch.

“What time is it?” he asked, his voice heavy with sleep, ready to fall under again.

“Four thirty or so.” She smoothed her hands down his back.

He slowly turned over, setting the heat pack aside. “And I haven’t kissed my wonderful wife yet today?” He reached up to cup her cheek and pulled her down to kiss him. “Thanks for letting me sleep.”

“Of course.” She kissed him again. 

Gil used his arm to guide her from sitting beside him to sprawled on top of him.

“You got pummeled, honey,” she reminded of the bruises he’d gotten to his side when he stopped his fellow officer from taking further damage to the face. It wasn’t like he’d truly forget, but he was prone to conveniently ignoring to show her he was okay.

“I want to hold my wife and make sure she feels I’m very much alive.” He rubbed her hip, playing with the exposed skin between her t-shirt and lounge pants.

“I’m not _that_ worried.” She laughed, nibbling and kissing near his ear.

“How far did you get on your painting?” His hands kneaded her ass.

“Like half.” She flicked out her tongue against his earlobe.

“You’re worried.” He kissed down her neck to get to her collarbone, his goatee tickling along the way.

“Morning wood,” she teased, and he nipped at the base of her neck.

“From my wife being within a 100 foot radius.” His hand slid up to cup her breast.

“50 last time.” Her kisses went over his forehead and brow, any place she could reach.

“What can I say, it’s growing.”

She giggled and he pulled her into a deep kiss, thoroughly exploring her mouth.

“Might stay in this bed all day,” he joked, pulling her shirt over her head.

“Take it easy — you could barely get up the stairs last night,” she warned, but helped with shedding clothes all the same.

He unclasped her bra, tossing it to the side, and let his hands take its place. “You’re in charge — slow as you want.”

“He says as his cock juts into my thigh.” She laughed, grinding against him.

She took it slow, as promised, rocking with him, reminding both of them he was still very much living, breathing, loving.

* * *

They wound up in bath robes, Gil finally stiffly making it out of the bedroom to sit at the kitchen table with her. He played with the soft microfiber of one of her sleeves and devoured the grilled cheese and tomato soup she had made him.

“Kid called — maybe give him a call a bit later,” she advised, drinking a fresh cup of tea.

“He okay?” He asked between spoonfuls of soup into his mouth.

“People being nasty again,” she shared, clutching her tea a bit tighter at the reminder of Malcolm’s distress. “Maybe it’s time we visit.”

“Maybe next weekend.”

She nodded and took his empty dishes to the sink, her robe falling open between her breasts upon return to her seat. Gil admired her a moment, tracing her features from her soft brow, to her sharp chin, down the curve of her neck, to the deep vee framed by her robe. He stood and retied it for her before she could, leaving a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’ll get the dishes — any other special requests before I call the kid?” He rested a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it.

“I love you, Gil,” she pulled his arms around her neck and kissed his forearm.

“I love you, Jackie.” He gave her a squeeze and kissed the top of her head again, reaffirming he was alive.

Subtle movements of love, witnessed by the walls of their home, resonating ever after.

Gil sat at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of tomato soup and grilled cheese he’d prepared himself. Her microfiber robe was too small, yet the biggest comfort. Their kid still needed more help than either one of them could give, but he was easier to visit.

“I love you, Jackie,” he told her photo on the counter.

Gil shared enough laughs with Malcolm for the both of them when Malcolm called to decompress. “Do not make me sing _Los Pollitos Dicen_ ,” Gil warned, countering his melancholy with humor.

“You _can’t_ sing,” Malcolm taunted and laughed back.

Gil started a haphazard rendition of notes that never really hit, yet none of that mattered. It reminded them of the woman they loved —

and that made all the difference.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
